This book is based and inspired by the Originals, with a tinge of the Vampire Diaries. I suggest that you watch the shows to understand some occurrences.
All rights go to The Originals television show on the CW, and Lisa Jane Smith (the author), except the characters and events that are purely of my imagination. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, OR ELSE YOU'LL BE REPORTED.
I JUST WANT TO SAY THAT IF ANYONE IS COPYING SECTIONS FROM THIS BOOK THAT ARE OF MY INVENTION, PLEASE TAKE ACTION.
(EDITED)
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The song of the chapter is: Thousand Eyes by Of Monsters and Men
I'll be the call, I will be quiet.
Stripped to the bone, I wait.
No, I'll be a stone, I'll be the hunter,
Tower that casts a shade.
I lie awake and watch it all diffuse,
Like thousand eyes.
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CHAPTER THIRTY NINE ― POUNDING DRUMS OF WAR
THE SOUND OF THE screams shouting "there would be no peace!" resonate in my mind all night, forcing me to toss and turn like there was no tomorrow. Marcel had definitely gotten his point across, because the treaty was already unofficially in tatters. Elijah was barely hanging the offer of peace by the thread.
Nik was right. The treaty would never have worked.
But we were so close. If not for Marcel . . .
Marcel. He would have been planning this little rebellion since God knows when. How flippant and cheery he sounded when he called me yesterday about Davina. Davina, who was a blood-pumping witch whom the vampires would have attacked. He had gambled a lot, but in the end he emerged victorious. He had ensued chaos in his wake, and now all of the supernatural faction were in jitters, blaming the others for everything and anything, leading the treaty to be null and void.
I roll onto my back, staring at my ceiling in the darkness. Antique ribbon-like swirls were painted in shades and hues of gold and silver, with all the shades in between.
Ribbons.
I get up so quickly that I get a whiplash on my neck. I groan in pain, massaging the inflamed area with one hand while the other reaches for the light button. I press it, and my bedroom is suddenly bright, the shadows being chased off.
I overturn my wrist, hope in my eyes, willing the mark to be gone. But there on my skin it stays, leering at me with ugliness. I shift on my mattress, now sitting cross-legged. Tempted by the growing heat on my skin, I reach out two fingers and touch it . . .
I gasp in shock, and throw my marked hand under a swathe of bed sheets as though it would hide it, as though I had imagined the entire thing. But I was no fool; the tattoo, the mark ― whatever the hell it was ― still stained my wrist.
A separate heart was pounding like the drums of war underneath the skin where the mark lay.
Thud. Thud.
It pumped no blood, yet it still bled with sound.
When I activated my vampire hearing, I couldn't hear any heart beat, except Genevieve's in the other room. But I could sense it, festering like a disease beneath the skin.
What did it mean?
What did it do?
Was it a witch's curse? Had Bastianna or Genevieve or Monique raised their hand against me? I wanted to blindly believe in my wild theories, however I was a woman of reason. I needed proof. Right now, I had none, only a string of nonsensical whimsies and fantasies.
I could ask Elijah or Nik for help, I'm sure they would oblige, as a side-project from the New Orleans matter. But gut instinct told me otherwise. I wanted to find out about this mark on my own without them finding out before me.
I knew who else I could ask: Rose.
I sigh a muffled groan, rubbing my sleepy visage. She would know, she would help, but it was not the same any longer. Duane had pretty much declared war against me and Rose had not bothered to call to tell me otherwise. The Jones were pissed at me, and I honestly could not blame them.
"Fuck's sake, I need a drink." I mutter, completely stressed.
My throat was dry, and I recognised the symptoms almost immediately. Skulking in the darkness of the Compound, since nobody was awake, I go downstairs to the dining table. A pitcher of blood is still on it from last night's meal and I breathe out a sigh of relief, knowing that I did not need to go all the way downstairs to the cellar to get my food.
I pour the crimson liquid into a carved glass and bring it to my lips. The sweet nectar gives me sweet relief: like magic, the dryness eases away, and my fatigue is replaced by renewed energy. A relaxed sigh makes its way through my lips.
I turn curiously as I suddenly spot Elijah walks downstairs (as usual, he was wearing his Armani suit), buttoning his sleeve. "Elijah?" I call out, "where are you going?"
He pauses, hesitant, his eyes guarded. I roll my eyes when I realise that he still did not have faith in me. "Seriously?" I snap in chagrin. "You still don't trust me?" Elijah exhales loudly, straightening his suit. "I am going to visit the Bayou to pacify the wolves. After the treaty was pretty much ruined last night, I need to soothe some sores, to make sure that everyone is still civil to one another, if not dignified." I nod in understanding, draining my glass in one gulp. "I'm coming with you."
He doesn't say anything, knowing that I was not going to listen to him if he told me to stay in the Compound. We walk outside, but instead of speeding to our destination as I thought, he leads me to a beautiful black sleek car with a silver chrome rim. "Why are we taking a car?" I quirk up an eyebrow.
"The bayou is far away. It's quite a distance." Elijah says shortly.
I get into the car smirking, not saying anything. Please, he just wanted to salvage his expensive, polished shoes from the mud. As the view out of the windows changes progressively from the city life to the simple greenery of the woods, I remember a piece of information from last night.
"Elijah, yesterday, at the party . . . Davina received a gift from Nik," I begin slowly, not sure how to explain my thoughts. "Yes, I saw the grand gesture my little brother made. What of it?"
"He gave her a daylight ring with a spell from what I suspect is Esther's grimoire." I inform. Elijah snaps his eyes on me, and if we were still on a city road I would have told him to eye it instead of me. "A daylight ring?" He repeats faintly.
"Yes, a daylight ring." I retort somewhat snappily at his sluggish pace to understand. "I don't know who exactly he wants to give it to; perhaps a few more Nightwalkers to expand his Daywalker army or ―"
"No, you're thinking too small." Elijah interrupts my theorisation, "I suspect he wants to help the wolves."
I blink several times before chortling in disbelief. "You're saying that he wants to give free reign to the werewolves? A ― a moonlight ring, if you will?" Elijah remains stoic, and that is when I realise how serious he was, how sordidly he believed in his own world-catastrophic theory.
"Elijah," I say in horror, "he can't do that! To give free reign to the wolves would mean the death of most vampires in the Quarter! Including me!" I yell in panic before adding as an afterthought, "who knows, maybe they'll expand to other places, other cities. It would completely upset the food chain."
"I'm not completely sure if that's what Niklaus wants, but if so . . ." he looks at me as he slows the car to a halt at the side of a road, " . . . it would completely change the rules of the supernatural. If he succeeds, rumours will spread, and more werewolves would ask for those moonlight rings. The more rings given out ―"
"― The more vampires will be slaughtered." I finish, my brain pounding with what was beginning to feel like a migraine. Both of us remain still in the car, digesting each other's words before Elijah snaps out of it and gets out of his car. "Let's go, we have a meeting with the Crescent wolves."
Dizzily, I get out of his car and walk with him deep into the woods until we come across their settlement in the Bayou. I am so enraptured in my own thoughts that I don't even pay attention to the bugs flying around. Why Hayley preferred to stay in a swamp instead of a bloody mansion is beyond me.
There are more werewolves here than I have ever seen staying in one place, doing the simplest, most mundane things like laundry to building some more homes. For a moment, I am fascinated by how tight-knit their community is, how everyone chatters to each other, laughs sprinkling in the air. For the first time in my entire life, I wonder what it is like to live with your fellow brethren werewolves instead of walking the earth forever as a solitary vampire.
Suddenly, the former seems so much more inviting.
But I shake my fantasies out of my head as we head further into their midst, trying to get to the cabin Elijah and I were sick in ― from a werewolf bite, how ironic ― where Hayley nursed Elijah back to health. Slowly, as we walk deeper into their settlement, the laughs drift off and their happy faces soon tighten into ones of hostility.
We are stopped by a palisade of werewolf men, some larger than Elijah and me, staring down at us threateningly, blocking us from going any further, their ringed muscles a formidable force to be reckoned with. The atmosphere thickens and drops so fast that I have to blink to make sure that I haven't imagined it all. I exhale slowly, almost worried that, at any sudden movement, chaos would ensue. Elijah steps ever so slightly in front of me, and I stare at the back of his head, touched by his unexpected protectiveness. I thought that he was supposed to hate me . . .
The leader of the little pack flares his nostrils like a horse, his eyes narrowed at Elijah. I find myself growing increasingly fearful for both Elijah's and I's safety. With the thunderous expressions these lot were giving us, they looked like they were going to rip Elijah to shreds.
Now, Originals did not die from wolf bites, but no one had seen what happens if an Originals was taken apart from each limb. Would their body parts crawl back together? Would it be exceedingly painful? Nonetheless, I am not hasty to test that theory.
"It's fine!" A thick accented voice makes its way around the clearing, "they're with me!" I look up in relief to see who our saviour is. Jackson.
"Come on in, guys." He waves us over, and slowly we walk to the cabin as though any sudden movement would anger them. Once we enter the cool shade of the interior of the cabin, I let myself breathe slightly more at ease. I grip the edge of the door, my fingers clutching at the rough wood, closing my eyes at the dizziness that attacks me. "Are you okay?" Elijah asks in concern, looking over. "Yeah," I wave him off, silently telling him to begin his eloquent negotiations, "I will be in a few moments."
Why the hell was I so tired?
Not tired, I realise, drained.
"You're making a grave mistake." He begins after a while, much to my cringe attack. Really? Did he have to start his conversation with the most prominent members of the Crescent werewolf pack by chastising them?
"So, you're just worried about us. Is that it?" Some blond-haired werewolf speaks up with insolence in his tone. I prickle at his arrogance, not liking it one bit. "Look, Elijah." Jackson, playing the pacifist, raises his palms in front of him, "we know all about your brother's reputation, but if there is even a chance that these rings can help us take control of our curse ―"
So Elijah's theory was correct.
"― Our gift." The blond-haired one interrupts. I narrow my eyes at him, wondering what his station was in this pack to get away with cutting off his leader. Out of the blue, I recognise him: he was the werewolf whom Diego was fighting off in the party Elijah organised to encourage the now non-existent treaty of peace. Jackson continues, not at all perturbed at the other one's interruption, "― Then, honestly, we don't care what he's really after. Won't have to."
"I see." Elijah is calm, but after living among his family and himself for the past month, I recognise the highly concealed impatience in his tone, "there are those in the Quarter who will consider this a great provocation."
"Apparently, most of them see us breathing the same way." The blond interrupts with a little scoff. "You signed a pledge, and you looked me in the eye as you did so." Elijah turns to face Hayley. I spin around as well, not having seen her yet. I widen my eyes, surprised at how . . . radiant she looked. She looked happy. Of course she is, I think sadly, she's among her own people now.
"We don't want a fight, Elijah." Hayley sighs, sounding almost as sad as I am, "we just want a better life." The duo share a long look, one haunted by hidden feelings and emotions. Hayley's eyes are moist and softer than I have ever seen before. They love each other, I realise, surprised. How doomed their love is.
A werewolf and a vampire, especially a Mikaelson, would never be accepted. Not to mention the fact that Hayley was pregnant with another Mikaelson's child. Not only is it forbidden according to the people who still held that vampire-werewolf prejudice, it is also extremely morally wrong. For their sakes, I hope that they fall in love with someone else before people are hurt.
"Allegiance with my brother will guarantee you anything but that." Elijah says so sorrowfully that my heart bleeds for him at that moment. My skin prickles uncomfortably, like I am trespassing an intimate moment that I shouldn't be witness to.
Then, a loud and disturbing noise rips across the werewolf settlement, inclusive of the cabin, like a roaring machine prepared to grind everyone to the dust. Since we are supernatural, everyone in the cabin flinches at how grating the noise is against the tender flesh of our eardrums. "Is that . . . is that a motorbike?" I wince, putting up a hand to my outer ear.
All of us exit the cabin in confusion, looking out at the middle of the clearing. A man in a grey leather jacket is sat atop a red motorbike, his sunglasses glinting strangely in the hazy light that barely filtered through the nooks in between the trees. The werewolves in the community stop their jobs, staring at the newcomer in confusion. "Which one of you is in charge?" He barks out, although the tone of his voice is oddly flat.
Compelled.
Jackson takes a step forward just as I take a sharp intake of breath, knowing that this was possibly a retaliation or a continuation of what happened at the Feast of Blessings. "Who's asking?"
As I reach out a hand to push Hayley down, and Elijah leans over the both of us, the world explodes into ash, dust and death.
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Okay, I must apologise: a short and rather crappy chapter. I think I was bored when I wrote this :(
Not to worry, the coming updates are going to be explosive, I promise :)
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